Ranger Smith
by Epic Dragon Trainer
Summary: Jack Smith is the ordinary son of the blacksmith of Norgate Fief. But when a mysterious organization, known as the Bandits, kill his parents and ransack his home, many strange things start to happen. Jack is sent to Redmont with a cryptic letter that will decide his fate. Who are the Bandits and what is their mission? What are they after, and what is Jack's part in all of this?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

SMACK! "Give us your money, kid! Don't try to deny you have some!" yelled the firs bandit, screaming in my face, and I must say he head horrible bad breath.

My head whipped back from the attack, and I could feel blood running down my lip. Despite the pain I was in, I decided to have a little fun with these guys before I knocked them out.

"You'll just have to find it. But be warned, I always keep plenty of nasty traps on me," I smirked.

"We've got a smart-ass on our hands, Rick. What do you think, should I do him in?" asked the burlier gentleman holding me down.

The obvious leader of the thugs was the taller, heavier set man standing over me with a rather large broadsword in his hand. He had a wicked looking scar that ran from ear to nostril on the right side of his face, and a wild crop of brown hair on his head.

"No. We don't want to stumble across any traps in his pack. Who knows, he may be a bomb smith," remarked the leader, evidently Rick. I smiled again. This guy was smarter than most.

The larger man, yet unnamed since I was woken rather roughly by him this morning, still held me down while Rick knelt down next to me and punched me hard in the face again.

I recoiled from the force. He had a hard punch.

"You don't understand do you? I will kill you if you don't give us you money," he said, barely holding back his anger.

I smirked back. "I don't have the time. I've got to be at Redmont in a few hours." That only earned me another punch.

"Well, I'll just have to ease it out of you then," said Rick, drawing a set of knives and selecting the largest one, with a suspicious looking substance on the end.

I shrugged. "I was bored anyway." I then elbowed my captor roughly right in the solar plexus, knocking the wind right out of him. He doubled over in pain, and I grabbed out the rod from my belt and smacked him over the head. He crumpled unconscious on the ground, out like a candle flame. I turned to Rick, who was already charging me.

I easily sidestepped him and drew a dart from my belt, fitting it into my little dart crossbow. I shot Rick right in the neck, and he too crumpled to the ground. I smiled again. Sleeping Darts. Maybe my best invention.

I gathered my things into my pack, including a few extras from Rick and the brute, just to have. Hey, they were stealing from me, so why not?

I was, true to my word, heading to Redmont. I had been a ward in Norgate Fief to the north, but had been recently kicked out. It was custom, at least in Norgate, to send anyone who was not chosen on Choosing Day to Redmont, where they would find someone to apprentice to.

Now, that's not really what had happened to me. My parents had only died a year ago, and I was sixteen. I had been apprenticed under my father, a remarkable and well-known blacksmith. He and his wife, my mother, had been brutally murdered in a raid from a group who called themselves the Bandits of Araluen. My father's shop had been ransacked, and everything was taken.

As I watched my father expire, he managed to, shakily, grab a letter from his desk, which happened to have fallen next to him. As he died, he told me to seek out the man it was addressed to in Redmont and be his apprentice. He also gave me a small notebook, and made sure I had a good grip on it.

"Don't lose this. " At this, he died.

I wept for him for a little, but I moved on. I was very close to my father, but I knew he wouldn't want me to weep for him.

I checked my pack to make sure the letter was still there, and sure enough, it was. It had taken me a while to get to Redmont. The Bandits were getting stronger, seizing whole towns in their rage. No one knew their purpose, though, and only several towns were ransacked. No one could follow what happened. I had to take many back roads and turnarounds.

I sighed, mounting my horse. I was average height for my age, maybe five foot eight, and I could reasonably use a full sized horse. Striker was one of the fastest horses in Norgate Fief, and my father had trained the beast admirably. I was amazed no one had stolen him.

My name is Jack Smith, sixteen years old. I have short blond hair combed down on my head, with vibrant blue eyes that seemed to almost glow in a certain light. I was not heavily set, more of a spry individual. That's not to say I wasn't strong. I could do most all the duties in the smithy, and I was actually very good at blacksmithing. I loved to experiment and I had invented a good many machines for use in the town, much to Norgate's, and my father's, delight.

When he and mom were taken from me, I felt as if my world would come crumbling around me. I didn't do anything for weeks but gather supplies and just hammer out metal in the forge. My mind was just a fog of questions, and I needed to get to Redmont to figure them out.

When I finally did get out, I tried to make haste for Redmont. Norgate isn't that far, but with the Bandits on the loose, I couldn't stop at any major towns. I met plenty of nice farmers and their wives (except for one who almost shot me and cursed me out), and they helped me out.

I sighed as I rode through the woods, the beautiful scenery whipping by me at breakneck speeds. I needed to just get a new job, a new master, and just settle down. Maybe the person the letter was addressed to could help me with that, but I had no idea. Respecting the reader's privacy, I didn't read it, but I was extremely curious. I was going to have a nice long talk with the addressee.

I could glimpse the towering red castle that gave Redmont its name. The sight of the castle made me both happy and sad at that same time. My father used to bring me to Redmont every year or so, for the Council of Smiths, who discussed all sorts of methods and machines that they were making. A fascinating meeting, but I was never invited to discus, only listen.

Of course, the memory of my father brought back the same saddened emotions as before. I was never all that close to my mother, though. Sure, we had a good relationship, but we had never really bonded in the same way that dad and I had. If ever I had a problem, or needed a shoulder to cry on, I would run to my father, not my mother. My mom never really liked this, but she let it go anyway.

I wiped the tears I didn't even know were forming in my eyes. I missed them so much, but I needed to start anew and make a life for myself, and I couldn't do that by constantly looking back at the past. 'Always move forward', as my father used to say.

We had just about breached the limits of the fief, marked with large signs that were written in several languages. Striker raced toward the castle in the distance, but never saw the large hooded man until we almost ran him over. Striker reared up, trying to stop before we ran the man over.

He sidestepped easily and brought a crushing blow on my head. I could see the darkness start to close in all around me, but I tried to fight it.

I slipped off the horse and grabbed my rod to defend myself. The rod was nothing more than a piece of scrap metal I had at the shop that I had grabbed for my own personal protection. I didn't have the time to craft a fully fledged weapon, and the Bandits had stolen much of our money and tools.

I swung clumsily at the shape that darted around like he was made of smoke. He seemed to blend into the shadows, as if he were made of pure darkness itself. The man also seemed to be taunting me, because he never attacked, but merely dodged all my attacks, laughing all the while in a deep, barking laugh that seemed to come from the fiery pits of hell itself.

"You are foolish boy. Simply give me your father's notes, and you will get away unharmed," said the cloaked man in his deep, gruff voice.

"What notes? I haven't got any!" I yelled, charging again.

The man pushed me to the side, and leaped on me, pinning me to the ground with his foot.

"Do you think I am an idiot, boy? Where are they?" he screamed.

I could barely breath, let alone answer, and the darkness was closing in even more than before. I was going to black out in the next few minutes whether I wanted to or not. I closed my eyes, accepting my fate.

But suddenly, the weight was lifted from my neck, and I could suddenly breath again. Through the approaching darkness I saw another cloaked man join the fray, smaller, but still looking remarkably well built. He had a large bow strung across his back, and was fighting with a large knife. Right before I blacked out, I noticed a small, silver oak leaf dangling on a string around his neck.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

My head was throbbing like crazy when I woke up, and I didn't even open my eyes for the first few minutes. I had no idea where I was or what the hell had just happened to me. All I knew was that it felt like I had been run over by a horse and carriage...multiple times.

In an instant, it all came rushing back. The ambush, the attack, the fight, the tall man, the cloaked man. It all made no sense to me, but seeing as I had no idea where I was or how the hell I had gotten there, I decided to remain perfectly still and try to gauge my surroundings before alerting anyone that I was awake.

I inhaled through my nose deeply but not loudly, so as to try to seem like I was still sleeping. I could smell wood smoke as well as something delicious in the air, a mix between something like a hare stew and potato soup. My mouth watered at the thought, and my stomach rumbled in agreement. I tried to quell it, but I hadn't eaten for a long time before I was knocked out, never mind for however long I was out.

Ignoring my hunger for the moment, I strained my ears to hear, well, anything. The pop of the wood fire prevailed most of all, taking up a large portion of my attention, but it soon filtered into background noise. I couldn't hear much of anything else, but I could almost feel the faint, steady vibrations that told me someone was pacing up and down at the foot of...wherever I was laid.

Why am I so observant? My father was always quite paranoid, especially following the battle against the sorcerer from a good number of winters ago. He had been in the castle at the time, an apprentice to the smith there, but when the attack began, he fled. He had been caught late by Will Treaty and his army as he ran away, but was able to persuade them he had no part in the fight. They let him go, but my father was forever suspicious that one day, someone would track him down and kill him for some undisclosed action he had done in the past regarding the battle, but he would never tell me.

He did, however, train me to always be observant, super-observant in fact. I was good at it too. I could notice things about people with just a glance, as well as being able to evaluate whether they were friendly. Now that I think about it, that second guy who came in was most likely friendly, but I didn't know whose hands I was in right now, so best to play it safe.

I couldn't really glean anything else, except for maybe the fact that I was lying on a bed with sheets, but that was about it. I took a chance and opened my eyes a fraction of an inch to try to see anything.

Through the small slit, I could see a young woman, maybe in her early 20s pacing at the foot of my bed as I had guessed earlier. She appeared friendly enough, if anything, she looked almost stressed, constantly glancing back at me, as if trying to reassure herself that I was there.

The room, from what I could see, was fairly large, and then I realized that I was in a one room cottage. I could catch no glimpse of either cloaked men, so I decided to risk it and sit up from the bed.

The blood instantly rushed from my head as I sat up, and I had to hold onto the edge to keep from falling over. My head throbbed more, and blackness threatened to swoop in on me again. I gasped from the pain.

The woman rushed over to me and pushed me down into the bed.

"Good, you're awake. But you need to rest. You're obviously in no shape to be up and about," she said in a pretty voice that almost resembled a pair of crystal wind chimes my father had made once. I was light and airy and somehow...homey.

"Where am I?" I attempted to ask, but it came out as more of a croak than any kind of intelligible words.

The woman smiled and grabbed a flask of water from the counter behind her and poured some into my mouth. I savored the delicious, clear liquid flowing into my desert throat. I felt like I could actually breath again, and swallow. It felt amazing.

"Thank you," I managed to croak out, still very weak, even if my vocal cords had been parched of their thirst. "Where am I?"

"You're in Redmont. I'm Rachael, live by myself in this little cottage. I happen to live by the castle, because I work there. I'm a hairdresser, actually, for the royal suck-ups at the castle," she said, scowling a little at the end. I liked her already.

"How did I end up here?" I asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "You tell me. I came in and saw some cloaked figure, looked almost like a Ranger, drop you in my bed and leave me several gold coins and an instruction to take care of you. Mind telling me what you're mixed up in?"

"I wish I knew. I was just riding toward Redmont. My town in Norgate was taken over by the Bandits, so I had to flee. Killed my parents, but my dad left a letter for someone here. I don't know who, I never got a chance to give it a good look. I was ambushed by a group of thugs on the road, but I got rid of them. But then another guy showed up, really tall, cloaked, and he knocked me out. That's all I remember," I said, rubbing my head.

Rachael crossed her arms. "Seems like you are in a heap of trouble. Who are these bandits you were talking about?"

I gave her an odd look. "You haven't heard of the Bandits of Araluen? They're everywhere, at least wherever I go. They've pretty much taken over Norgate Fief, so I figured they were everywhere. They're nothing more than a group of thugs, taking over everything. They only attack certain places though, but there are no connections, at least none that I can see. It makes no sense. Are you sure you've never heard anything about it?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. We haven't had any kind of crazies around here, especially with the Ranger Treaty and Ranger Halt's help. They quell all kinds of uprisings here. Whose your Ranger for Norgate?"

I shrugged. "Never met him. No one ever sees him or talks about him. I didn't even know we had one."

Rachael sighed. "Norgate's Rangers have always been crappy. Everyone seems to think its this safe haven away from any danger, but it's one of the most dangerous place in all the country. I wouldn't trust myself alone up there."

"Yeah well, you pick up a few things when you're on the run," I said. "Got anything to eat?"

Rachael smiled. "Of course. Or can't you smell the tantalizing smell coming from the kettle? I'll pull it up in a second, but be careful. It's hot."

I took a deep breath and my nose caught a whiff of what I had smelled earlier. Like hair and potatoes. My stomach growled again, reminding me just how hungry I really was.

Rachael drew up a bowl of a creamy, golden brown liquid from the cauldron, with delicious looking chunks of what appeared to be meat and other assorted vegetables. I reached out to take it and the spoon she offered me, and I started to wolf it down.

Of course, I did nothing to heed the warning that she had given me earlier, and I nearly burned my tongue off from the scalding soup. Once I got it to cool down, I was able to enjoy it for what it was. And let me tell you, it was delicious. The broth was creamy, a perfect hare stew that had been thickened with something, probably tasteless, with all sorts of vegetables in it. Carrots, potatoes (I know me a good potato when I smell it, it is one of my favorite foods), corn, some herbs, and some I couldn't make out but were delectable just the same.

"This stuff is amazing," I said, wiping my mouth and holding my hand out for a second bowl, which Rachael happily obliged to filling. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"

Rachael seemed to deflate a little. "My mother. She was a retired cook at the castle, and she taught me all sorts of recipes. But I don't really want to talk about her. It brings back too many memories," she said, a huge helping of pain in her voice.

"What happened?" I asked, instantly curious. It was only after that I realized how rude I was, and shut my mouth promptly. "I mean, forget about it. It's nothing."

"No, I should tell you. Both of my parents were taken by the Plague a few years ago."

I gasped. The Plague was about the worst way to go. It would eat away at you, devouring you from the inside out until you were nothing more than skin and bones, and then those too would dissolve into dust. It was a painful and horrid way to die, with no cure. Most people asked to be killed before the Plague could take full effect. A mercy killing as it was. I hated it.

Apparently, it had been brought from some small island from over the ocean by traders. It spread throughout Araluen like wildfire, killing thousands in its wake. It was one of the worst epidemics that the country had ever sustained, and its echo carried through to the present day, although the number of cases were much lower than it could have been, with much thanks from a medicine that was created by researchers that were commissioned by the Ranger Corps itself. A team of doctors and nurses had labored for weeks for a cure, but the only thing they could come up with were several preventative measures that were used fairly universally after the epidemic. It helped to stop the spread of the pathogen, but not to cure the disease itself. Most people just ran the other way from a person with Plague.

We sat in remorseful silence for a minute or so, before I got up woozily and washed my bowl in the sink with a bucket of water form the well. Rachael continued to sit in silence, and I could tell it was hard for her. But I knew from experience that these things just needed to be let out. Remorse like that, held in for so long, does bad things to the mind.

After I finished washing up, I pulled out the letter from my pack, smoothing out the wrinkles in the paper from being stuck in my bag for so long. The ink had already begun to fade from the page, indeed, we were not a rich family, and any ink we could afford was shoddy, watered down, and weakly colored. It was a miracle we had ink at all. Most of the time we just used charcoal from the forge.

The name was barely legible, but I could make out the tiny and precise lettering of my father. Luke Malison was the name. It seemed vaguely familiar, perhaps he had mentioned it once, but I couldn't seem to place it.

"Hey, Rachael. Do you know anyone by the name of Luke Malison?" I asked, double checking the name just to be sure.

"Sure. He's Redmont's finest blacksmith. A bit of a shady fellow, keeps to the shadows. Makes good blades though, and anything else for that matter. Nice guy all around. Why do you ask?" she said.

I showed her the letter. "The letter is addressed to him. I need to find him."

She seemed rather interested by the letter, particularly the watermark in the bottom right hand corner. She pointed it out to me, as I had never noticed it before.

"I've never seen that mark before. Any idea what it means?" she asked.

I shrugged. "A personal seal? I don't know. It's probably nothing of relevance. Where can I find him?" I asked.

"Center of the town. You'll know it by the massive chimney and the large awning out front painted with a hammer and an anvil. He'll probably be in the middle if a project. He always is," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, I do believe I have a letter to deliver. Thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going. It was really great meeting you Rachael," I said, shaking her hand.

She smiled back. "If ever you need a place to stay, my door is always open," she said.

"Thank you." And with that I began the trek down to the blacksmith shop to find out what the hell this letter was all about.

**Don't forget to review people!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**To whom it may concern (as I can't PM the person who asked this question), the Plague is only based off of the Black Plague in Europe in its transmission and name. It is actually a complication of Tuberculosis called Wasting Syndrome, which eats at muscle tissue and fat until you are completely deprived of nutrients. It is not identical, but the idea is there. **

I made my way out of the house and saw just how close it was to the castle. The cottage was situated in a wooded clearing not 200 feet from the drawbridge to the main castle. Why she didn't live in the castle was beyond me, but I certainly wasn't complaining. The main village was very close to the castle, with the main gate being right in front of the draw bridge.

The main town of Redmont was rather large, extending for several miles square, and packed fairly tight. Tons of people crowded the small streets, eager to trade and buy all of the goods that Redmont had to offer.

Indeed, Redmont was known almost world-wide as a center of trade and commerce. People came even from as far as Skandia (at least since the treaty) to get their hands on some of the fine materials that Redmont had to offer.

That isn't to say that Redmont made all of the things they sold. Far from it, they were one of the biggest importers in the entire country. More than half of the goods they sold came from other fiefs, that were then refurbished, reused, or re-outfitted for resale. Many of the other fiefs were not at all happy with this, and there had been many lodged complaints against them. Of course, none of them ever made it very far, and the fief had prospered quite happily despite.

I loved getting the news from the merchants that would come from Redmont to trade and sell goods to the neighboring fiefs. We could trade a copper coin for news of the recent happenings in Redmont and the rest of the country, and we would all sit in awe of all the fantastical events.

Stories of the famous Will Treaty were by far my favorite. I had no idea why, he was just inspiring to me. He had started off as a normal guy, but he had become a hero to the nation.

Then of course there was the equally famous Ranger Halt, Will's master and the one of the most mysterious Rangers in the country. He was renowned for his killer glare and his...unconventional styles. Rumor had it he had tossed a lord into a moat once because he offended a friend of his. Not a guy to mess around with.

Speaking of Rangers, there was always a tall, cloaked man, who looked like a Ranger but wore no outward Ranger markings, that would come to my fathers shop and place orders for weapons and machines. He would always have the necessary plans, and even some special types of metal or tools for my father to use. I was never let in on these projects, and whenever my father would work on one of these orders, he would send me off to do chores.

I never trusted this man, but he paid us quite handsomely for it, so I was not going to be the one to disrupt such a steady business. In fact, I had never put much thought into it before now. It was just one of those things that was just part of the schedule and had never had a reason to question.

Shaking my thoughts from my head, I found myself in the town square. The place was busy, but strangely homey, like it was a central living room in a home that was used for socializing more than business. People were everywhere, chatting about this and that, and who said what and where to get this cool nick-knack, and whatnot. Everyone seemed more or less happy about everything, and I didn't see any petty street thieves or beggars.

In fact, I was astounded by the relative lack of poverty in the town. I commented on it to a red headed man at a street corner, and he stood up proud as he explained.

"Indeed. The Baron had been helping to reduce poverty in the city for years. He has special programs and meetings for those in need to get support. As for crime, well, let's just say that no one gets very far with a crime without being set upon by the Rangers. It's like they're watching us...everywhere..." he said, shaking his head at the last sentence and walking away looking over his shoulder.

Okay, so that guy seemed a little paranoid. But why wouldn't they be? Rangers were creepy, and there were rumors that they practiced black magic, which I thought was a load of hogwash. If the Rangers were evil, or used evil magic, than the world really was screwed.

I shook off the feeling, and then kept moving toward the towering, smoking chimney that signaled where the blacksmith was. I smiled. Finally, someone who can tell me something.

I still hadn't read the letter, but I so wanted to. More than I could even think about. I was burning to know what was in it that was so important that my father would use his dying breaths to deliver.

And then there was the notebook. That I had looked in, but the thing was written in gibberish, although I did recognize some of the symbols in the schematics. Most of the drawings in the notebook were drawings for weapons and machines that looked foreign and bizarre, although some of them looked familiar, but modified.

I couldn't make head nor tails of the writing in the notebook. It was some kind of code or script, because the words weren't Araluen. The letters weren't even Araluen. It made no sense, and no matter how many times I studied it, I couldn't piece anything from it.

I was within sight of the smith, and I could see the sign that Rachael had talked about, when I could see some brutes attacking a poor guy who was trying to buy something from a stall. Four masked thugs surrounded the man, who appeared to be buying some pottery, a water jug by the looks of it. The thugs had some kind of problem with the guy, because they were taking turns smacking the poor, thin guy over the head.

"Please!" I kept hearing him yell. "I don't have your money! I'm trying to earn it back, I swear!" he yelled.

"And yet you have the money to buy a water jug," said one of the four men. So it was a water jug. One point for me, I guess. "You're coming with us. We have a nice farm that needs tending," he said, this time quite menacing.

I sighed. How many thugs would I have to deal with in the span of a week? Hell, I was running from a group who called themselves the Bandits. I had the worst luck concerning large, masked men. Well, what better way to get a first impression, I thought. I had lost my bar from before, but honestly, that never felt quite right in my hands.

I saw a window pole lying abandoned on the side of the road. I tested it, and it was quite sturdy. Now this was something that felt right in my hands. It was pretty well balanced, and in a few seconds I had a good feel for it.

I sauntered up to the first masked man, the one who had spoken, using the pole as a walking stick. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey ugly!" I yelled and clubbed him on the head, rendering him instantly unconscious. The other three turned around and brought out some wicked looking short swords. Their edges seemed to glow sickly green, and I knew they were poisoned. One scratch would most likely give me a pretty severe chronic case of death.

I spun around as they surrounded me with their blades, my measly window pole clutched in my hands. I knew that I had barely any chance against these guys who appeared to be professional swordsmen. My only hope was that my years of being a blacksmith apprentice had given me quick reflexes, the ability to react to something unseen, and the ability to hit hard.

One of the men, evidently the one in charge, spoke out. "Stay out of things you aren't concerned in, kid." After saying that, he got a funny look on his face, and then drew out a sheet of paper with something drawn on it. I couldn't make out what the hell it was, but it seemed to be a hastily drawn sketch of some kind, and the man seemed to study it and then look at me several times.

"It's him," he said simply, and the men all closed in on me.

I panicked. What did they want me for? I didn't have anything that anyone would want, did I? Well, it didn't matter I guess, because they were coming for me regardless, and I knew that they couldn't take me. I held my staff in a fighter's stance, showing the thugs that I meant business.

There was still only three of them, as the fourth was still snoozing on the ground where I left him, but three armed thugs was still a tall order, and all armed with poisoned blades, no less.

"Well, no use just giving in now," I said, shrugging, faking relaxation before striking out quickly at the first guy, catching him by surprise. The staff smacked a part on the guys neck that seemed to paralyze him, as he collapsed into a heap on the ground, and from the fact that his eyes rolled up into his skull, I could tell that he was out for good. One down, two to go.

I faced the other two, and they, smartly, surrounded me one in front of me, and one behind. I spun around to keep myself from being blind sided by the goons. As I spun, the one that ended up behind me struck, and I had to move as fast as I could to block the shot with the staff, halfway along its length. I saw it splinter, and I knew it would never withhold a frontal assault that long.

For some strange reason, both of them stopped for a second after their initial assault and took out two odd capsules from their packs and swallowed them. The first guy attacked me again, and this time, he was moving really fast.

The other guy, seeming to find courage from his comrade, unleashed his fury. But this one, not being as smart as his compatriot, struck blindly, and I easily sidestepped him. The man turned around quickly, faster than should have been possible for a guy his size.

They were moving with a super human speed that should not have been at all possible. They were almost like ghosts or something, it certainly wasn't natural. I tried my best to keep up with them, but once they had switched on their super speed, it was impossible to keep up. I found myself getting precariously close to those green edged swords, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I was done.

I had almost given up when I saw a man, maybe in his late 20s, jet black hair in a wild mess on his hair, and he was wearing an apron that was stained black with soot. He came running at the feet with, seemingly, nothing but his fists. Just before he reached the fight, he pulled his arms back and flicked his wrists. Twin knives flew from his wrists and sailed straight and true at the two thugs, killing them instantly.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and went to go thank the man. He looked slightly annoyed, pulling his knives from the men and wiping the blood off on the grass.

"Thank you. I was almost done there," I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

He scowled, but shook my hand anyway. "You shouldn't have done that kid. Never mess with a thug on Swift," he said, shaking his head.

I wanted to ask another question, but he just shushed me pointing to my left arm. I looked down and saw a wicked looking scratch that was oozing an unsightly yellow liquid.

"We need to get that treated and..." was all I heard before I crumpled to the ground, completely gone to the world.


End file.
